Rick lowered the plastic cup of coffee he nursed. Two men carrying deer rifles stationed themselves beside a door. With glances at each other, they swung the door open and stepped into the night, slamming the door behind them.
“The sentries have spotted someone or something,” Mark explained in an even voice. “It happens around three or four times a night. Just enough to keep everybody edgy. Ninety percent of the time it’s nothin’ more than a stray cat or dog.”
“The other ten percent?” Rick questioned.
“Let’s just say the snakes haven’t located this place for three months,” Mark replied as he took a sip from his cup of coffee. “We don’t let anyone get close enough to get a good look.”
The door the men had disappeared through flew open. The two returned, dragging a third man between them as they crossed into Brad’s office.
“That looked like Buster. ” Jace’s eyes shifted to Mark. “Wasn’t he drivin’ one of the cars tonight?” Mark thought a moment and nodded. “Looked like he was in pretty bad shape.”
Brad stepped from his office and called, “Charlie, Rick, I think you two should hear this.”
Coffee in hand, the two rose and walked into the resistance leader’s office. The man Jace and Mark had identified as Buster sat slumped in a chair. He pressed a crimson-stained handkerchief to a nasty-looking gash on his forehead.
“He was in the car with Sheryl Lee,” Brad whispered. “They ran into Visitors.”
“A whole damned squad of ’em,” Buster spat. “We hadn’t driven more than a mile from the shopping center when we ran head-on into a ground patrol.”
The injured man detailed the high-speed flight he and his passenger had made in an attempt to lose the Visitor shock troopers. He estimated the chase lasted only another mile when a second ground patrol appeared.
“We wheeled onto a residential street and plowed into an overturned van. That’s when I cracked my head against the windshield.” Buster winced painfully as he shifted in the chair. “Sheryl Lee was thrown from the car. I’m not certain exactly what happened then.”
He said that he managed to stumble from the wreck and around the car to aid the redhead. She was gone.
“She was runnin’ directly toward the snakes,” he said. “I called after her. She didn’t stop. Dazed, confused, hurt—I don’t know, but she didn’t stop. She just kept runnin’ . . . just kept runnin’. Right into the lizards’ hands!”
An ice floe moved through Rick’s veins. Sheryl Lee was a captive of the Visitors! After all she had endured and survived to bring the medical supplies into Dallas, she had reached her destination only to be trapped by an overturned van lying in the middle of a street.
Buster’s head lowered, and he sobbed. “I couldn’t do a thing to help her. I was only one man against all those slimy bastards. So I ran. God help me, I left her with them—those damned things—and I ran.”
Brad sympathetically squeezed the man’s shoulder. “There was nothin’ you or anyone else could have done. You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Like you said, she was dazed and confused. She didn’t know what she was doin’.”
Buster sadly shook his head and mumbled an account of his flight from the ground patrols and the hot-wiring of a car to escape the Visitors.
Rick barely heard him. His thoughts centered on Sheryl Lee and the fate that awaited his angel in khaki at the hands of the alien invaders. It couldn’t end for her like this. The redhead was too full of life, too determined, too strong to . . .
He lied to himself. It would end exactly like it had ended for millions of men, women, and children who had been brimming with life when the Visitors captured them. Sheryl Lee would die or be transformed into a reptilian frozen dinner. Unless we do something.
“Where would they take her?” Rick looked up at his companions.
Brad’s gaze lifted to the Californian. “If she’s still alive, I’d guess to a local transport center and then on to the processin’ center in Fort Worth, the one at Carswell. It’s the only one left standin’ in the area.”
“Still alive?” Rick’s voice rose. “Is there any reason to think she’s not alive?”
“No.” Brad rubbed at his balding head. “But she could have been hurt in the accident. There’s no way to be certain.”
“She wasn’t hurt!” He refused to accept that the young woman was dead. “Confused, yes, but injured . . . well, maybe. She was running, Brad. She ran. A seriously wounded person can’t run!”
“Which means she’s being transported to Fort Worth,” the Dallas resistance leader replied. “That’s the same as being dead.”
“What?” Rick couldn’t believe what he heard. “How can you say that?”
“Son, what else can he say?” This from Charlie, who turned a drawn and tired face to the younger man.
“He can say that we’re going in and get her!” Rick shouted, unable to contain his mounting frustration and anger. “Sheryl Lee deserves that much! She’s alive and that means there’s a chance of getting her out.”
Brad stiffened. “Get her out? How? What do you suggest we do—drive up to the processin’ center’s gate and tell the snakes we’ve come for Sheryl Lee Darcy? Because that’s about all we can do right now. Ninety percent of my forces are scattered across Dallas tonight. We hit a processin’ center, remember? They’re hidin’ because the snakes are swarmin’ the city searchin’ for them. Hell, I’d be lucky if I could raise twenty men and women for your little suicide mission.”
“Twenty men and women can do a hell of a lot.” Rick stood his ground.
“Rick, it’s no good,” Jace said. “What happened to Sheryl Lee is what could happen to any of us. We all know that and accept the risk. It’s not pretty, but that’s what we have to live with.”
“Twenty people stormin’ a processin’ center.” Brad snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s true, it’s really true. All you Californians are loco"
It was crazy, and Rick knew it. But he couldn’t let the Visitors take Sheryl Lee, not without fighting. “Then I’ll go after her myself.”
His companions sighed in disgust and shook their heads. It was Mark who spoke. “Now you are talkin’ crazy. Why don’t you just take that energy pistol you’re carryin’ and put it to your head? It’d be quicker.” Energy pistol? Rick glanced at the weapon stuffed under his belt. The seed of an idea took root. His mind raced, trying to jam pieces to a puzzle together as he went.
“There’re the Visitors uniforms in the skyfighters.” He glared at the bear of a man. “With this pistol and a uniform, I might, just might be able to get into the center. ”
“Not much chance they’d let you through the gate,” Brad replied.
“Then I’ll fly in. I’ve watched Charlie work the skylighter’s controls. I can’t guarantee I’ll make it, but, dammit, it’s worth a try!” Rick would not be denied.
“There’ll be no need of you doin’ that.” Charlie sat up. “ ’Cause I’ll be pilotin’ you. I’m sure I can wiggle into one of those uniforms.”
“Brad, he’s onto something.” Jace turned to the resistance leader. “The snakes aren’t goin’ to question skyfighters landin’ at the processin’ center, especially if those ships are haulin’ prisoners. Say, twenty prisoners.” “All with weapons tucked under their shirts.” A humorless smile spread across Mark’s face. “Four shock trooper guards and twenty prisoners—we’d have a shot at pullin’ it off, Brad.”
Brad’s head moved from side to side as he sank into the chair behind his littered desk. He sucked in a hissing breath. “It wouldn’t work. Twenty-four people aren’t enough to go up against the guards in that processin’ center. It would still be suicide.”
He paused to draw another deep breath. “However, if those twenty-four were to get a little outside help, just enough to create a diversion, then . . .” His voice trailed off, and he smiled.
“You’ve got a plan, don’t you, cowboy?” Jace raised his eyebrows at his friend.
> “I just might. It’ll be risky and it depends on the situation in Fort Worth, but,” Brad glanced at Rick, “it’s Sheryl Lee we’re talkin’ about here. And she deserves that much from us. Now all of you get the hell out of my office. I’ve got to try and raise Fort Worth on the radio. ”
CHAPTER 21
Doubts assailed Rick’s mind as Charlie switched on the skyfighter and guided the craft from the resistance’s warehouse hangar. What had seemed so clear and simple in Brad’s office was now clouded and cut through with a thousand ifs.
To begin with, the stolen uniform he wore was at least two sizes too large for him; it fit like a floppy tent. And the helmet about his head felt like an ill-balanced melon. Then there was the face mask. With that dark sheet of plastic dropped before his eyes, he could barely see inches in front of him, or at least it seemed that way. He knew the Visitors were sensitive to the sun’s light, but he had never realized they were this sensitive. Their home world must be in a continous state of semidarkness, he mused.
He glanced over a shoulder to watch Jace’s ship exit the hangar, but couldn’t see a thing. The ten resistance volunteers who had packed themselves into the small craft completely blocked his view of the skyfighter’s aft window.
At least they look the part. Rick perused the faces of the ten men and women. They look like drugged zombies being led to the slaughter.
It wasn’t a drag that brought the dazed expressions to their faces, he recognized. It was fear, simple cold fear. The fact that each carried a weapon concealed in his or her clothing—a pistol, .45 caliber at the minimum, or an
Uzi or a sawed-off shotgun if they wore a coat or jacket to hide the bulk—did absolutely nothing to ease that gnawing fear.
Every one of them was fully aware of the fact that they were entering the dragon’s den. This den swarmed with at least two hundred reptiles, each armed with pulse-beam energy-spitting pistols and rifles.
“Time to get this show on the road, Surfer Boy.”
Charlie’s use of the nickname Sheryl Lee had given him turned Rick’s head around. Outside he saw Jace’s skyfighter slide beside theirs. In helicopter-imitating fashion, the two ships rose straight in the air, banked west, and shot toward Fort Worth thirty-five miles away.
“Now all we have to do is get inside the Carswell processin’ center, find Sheryl Lee—if the snakes have taken her there—then get ourselves back out again in one piece,” Brad said from behind Rick’s seat.
The Visitor-disguised Californian ignored the resistance leader’s less than reassuring tone. The plan of attack was relatively uncomplicated. If one considers coordinating the activities of two cities’ resistance forces uncomplicated, Rick admitted, realizing the complexity of the dual assault on the processing center.
Phase one hinged on their two Trojan horse skyfighters penetrating Visitor security surrounding the center. If they made it inside—and that was no small if—Fort Worth resistance had agreed to provide the diversion Brad had mentioned in his office. At five o’clock in the morning, four hundred resistance fighters would storm the processing center fully intent on taking and destroying the facility.
During that attack, the Dallas group would free Sheryl Lee while disrupting Visitor defenses from the inside.
“Take a gander at that!” Charlie whistled and pointed ahead. “We still must be twenty miles from the center.”
Rick sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t need Charlie’s finger to locate the lights on the horizon. Like a portion of day blossoming in the night, the processing center sat on the horizon illuminated by searchlights and floodlights the Visitors had strung about its perimeter. The young man swallowed. Making it through that circular corridor of light would be hell for the Fort Worth force.
Static popped from the control-panel speaker. Rick jumped.
“You’re on a heading that will take you directly over Fort Worth Processing Center Two.” Rick discerned a voice within the crackling static when he could finally hear above the pounding of his heart. “Please identify yourself and your purpose.”
Without blinking an eye, Charlie tapped a white button beside the speaker. “This is ...” A static-mimicking hiss sputtered from his lips to make it sound as though interference garbled his transmission. “We have twenty prisoners and request permission to land and unload these smelly animals.”
A chill raced up and down Rick’s spine. The older man pushed it too far with the “smelly animals” comment.
“Please repeat,” the voice requested. “I lost half of that in static.”
“This is units . . .” Charlie hissed again, louder,”
. . . from Dallas with ...” more hissing, . . . prisoners. We request permission to land and unload.” He finished with another burst of hissing.
The speaker was silent, as though the Visitor on the opposite end was considering exactly how to handle the situation. Static popped again and the voice returned. “Permission granted. However, you and your co-pilot will be required to maintain guard over your prisoners until they have completed processing.”
“What? Our duty was supposed to be over at . . .” Charlie hissed once again. “What’s going on down there?”
“I’d lower your voice if I were you,” the speaker
answered. “We’ve got brass up to our hindquarters down here, and they’re just looking for heads to roll.” “Understand, Fort Worth,” Charlie replied. “What’s the problem?”
“Everything,” the voice in the speaker answered. “Easiest way to proceed is to ‘yes, sir’ it and protect your own tail.”
“Understood,” Charlie said. “And thanks for the advice, Fort Worth. Units . . .” he hissed once more, “. . . out.”
Charlie’s grin split his narrow face when he punched off the radio and glanced at Rick. “Some things never change. The old radio-static trick! Picked that up in Korea, and it still works like a charm. Used to drive our wing leader crazy!”
Rick released a nervous sigh of relief, but Brad spoke from behind him. “For one, this smelly animal would like to know more about the Visitor brass that were mentioned.”
Charlie shrugged. “I did the best I could. Our friend on the radio probably had some of that brass breathin’ down his neck.”
Rick’s attention returned to the skyfighter’s window and the processing center’s lights. They glowed only five miles away now, and the situation looked far worse than it had appeared from over Dallas. The floodlights illuminated a circle around the center at least a quarter of a mile wide. It would be impossible for anyone to move within that area without being seen.
“Do you think your Fort Worth friends will be able to get through that?” Rick turned to Brad.
“They’ll give it all they’ve got.” Brad’s eyes widened when they shifted to the front of the skyfighter. “My Lord, what’s goin’ on down there? It looks like a cattle yard!”
Rick swiveled around. Outside, the processing center loomed below. The reason for the shock that rattled the resistance leader was more than obvious. People were packed behind the center’s chain-link perimeter fence like steers crammed into a holding pen. Here and there a sprinkling of red marked the shock trooper guards who herded the human steers.
“It looks like they’re running at overload down there.” Disgust seeped into Brad’s every syllable. “We hurt ’em bad tonight, and they’re tryin’ to make up for it here. There must be three thousand people waitin’ processing.”
From the milling mass under guard outside the center, Rick followed a long, serpentinely twisting line of drugged men and women who shuffled one by one into the building. Conveyer belts ran from the back of the center where squad vehicles squatted, ready to be packed with the milky capsules that rode those belts. The Californian’s stomach lurched at the thought of the contents stored in each of the capsules.
“I’m takin’ us down.” Charlie maneuvered the skyfighter over the rows of waiting shuttles and began to drift earthward near the gate of the massive holding
pen.
Rick checked his wristwatch—four-thirty. A half hour remained until the Fort Worth resistance staged their assault.
“And remember we’re supposed to be drugged,” Brad said to the others in the skyfighter. “That means act drugged. Look dazed, and for the love of God, don’t react to anything that’s happenin’ around you.”
A slight vibration ran through the alien craft when it touched the old runway. Charlie’s fingers danced over the control console, shutting down the ship’s engines and opening the hatch. The older man turned to Rick and pursed his lips.
“This was my idea; I’ll go first.” Rick pushed from his chair and stood.
Drawing a steadying breath, he wedged his way through the resistance fighters and stepped outside, energy weapon cradled in his arms. To the right the door to Jace’s skyfighter opened. He saw Mark’s massive, shock trooper-disguised form exit the craft with a line of mock prisoners following him.
“Okay, move the animals out,” Rick called back to Charlie as he lowered the smoky visor to his helmet. He lifted the rifle, finger curling around the trigger and resting there.
Taking his place beside Brad when the resistance leader shuffled from the craft, Rick walked toward the four shock troopers who stood guard at the processing center’s gate. One of their heads turned. The shock trooper stared at the approaching procession, then nudged his companions. Rick tensed, ready for the whole insane charade to come tumbling down around his ears.
“Hey, you,” a guard shouted. “Hurry up there. We’ve orders to move your prisoners directly into the processing queue. Commander Garth wants those skyfighters back into the air as soon as possible.”
Thankful for the dark faceplate, which hid the relief that washed over his face, Rick released a soft sigh. He then grasped Brad’s arm and shoved the man forward to hasten the pace.
“Back in the air?” the California resistance fighter questioned when two of the guards escorted him and the prisoners through the mass of people packed inside the fence. “We were supposed to be off duty two hours ago.”
V 11 - The Texas Run Page 15
